


The Boy Who Shot The Sparrow

by astrariumcatcher



Series: Wardens Don't Always Talk About Darkspawn [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: The Last Court
Genre: Bandits & Outlaws, Blood and Injury, Fantasy, Ficlet Collection, Flashbacks, Gen, Memories, Mild Blood, Non-Linear Narrative, Robin Hood References, Theft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrariumcatcher/pseuds/astrariumcatcher
Summary: "Memories piece together who we are."Gerod was born in Northern Orlais, raised to till a field, and to steal from the nobles who trampled them to the ground. His journey to the Wardens is a familiar one, and yet, he is different from them all.These are a collection of his memories.[No Set Update Schedule; In Progress]
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Wardens Don't Always Talk About Darkspawn [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016619
Kudos: 2





	1. Shovel and Spade, Lantern and Lamp

**Author's Note:**

> This work (as well as the companion pieces) are snapshots of memories that have passed, are happening, or will happen. We're "on the outside looking in". This is mostly for fun and practice, and also a way to develop this characters in a different way. But if you are enjoying it, or would ever want to read a longer piece about them, let me know :)

“You’ve taken plenty from us!”

Tax collector, tax collector, they come around too often. He could hear the honeyed voice from the other side of the door. Mother was too loud, her words overpowered, hiding at the fear that ate away at all of them. Would they have enough to last the week? Would they be able to feed themselves? Would they live?

Would they live?

It was a question that promised all answers could be wrong. No one knew, least of all him.

Tax collector, tax collector, hasn’t enough been taken already? His words twist through the wood: arrogant, spoiled, little thing that can’t possibly defy the Empress’s decree. A twist of his face, strong as the knot of the noose. That would shut him up.

“You’ll live to regret those words.”

Tax collector, tax collector, gone for the moment. He’ll be back tomorrow morn with a shovel and a spade. Regret, regret, regret. They always made promises in the form of threats. As if that would change their mind when all it did was strengthen the resolve.


	2. Unlucky Strike

Taunt, strike, parry. His mouth curves into a frown. There wasn’t something right about this weapon, the way it felt in his hand. There was a reliance in the way he moved, and his opponent. Unlucky, and well, that would mean defeat.

“Gerod, focus!”

“Right, my bad. Let’s try this again.”

Strike, strike, now a block. That was different than he had anticipated. A disengage, and bam, he’s knocked off his feet. The blooming pain of a blunted edge forming on his abdomen. Another bruise to the collection, he’ll be purple. 

His brother promised that practice would make it better. There were always promises, unwelcome and wicked little things.


	3. Mistakes Cost Blood

Dried blood on his lips. Painful and numb, a reminder of a mistake. There’d be a nasty scar when it finally took the time to heal. A hiss at the front on his tongue. Torn, bleeding once again. The stupid poultice wasn’t doing its job.

“Must be Andraste’s blessing that they didn’t give you a worse beating.” His mother’s words are stern, unforgiving. Her lectures weave through the air nowadays, catching nothing in their trap. Least of all his attention. In one breath, beratement. In another, praises to the Chantry’s gods. “You shouldn’t have run amok.”

No, what he shouldn’t have done was get caught. He knows what to do the next time a lock is broken.


	4. An Encounter

Vanilla lingers in the air, red locks covering her face. What did it mean for her to be here, to lie there without a care in the world? She stirs, shifting to the other side of the bed. A deep sigh, and she stirs once more. This time, she woke up. Dark eyes watch him carefully. At first he sighs, opening his mouth to speak, but no words leave. What was there to say?

“You look confused.” It was she who broke the silence. Her voice level, careful, not even remotely close to how she sounded just last night. 

He nods, shifting his weight to his arm. To be enamored by her was a mistake. It was a trap meant for those who begged for a broken spirit. Or perhaps he sought out pain to be collected in the future. Something emotional, something that could not be touched - not like physical pain, at least. “Shouldn’t your Serault be calling you back by now?”

“She isn’t jealous of who I spend my time with. Even _if_ that someone is a bandit.” 

A fitfull of laughter leaves her, and she scrambles to wipe away the stray tears. He pauses, opting to lay flat, listening as her giggling continues, overtaking the silence he was so used to.


	5. Lessons in Failure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mild mention of blood & injury

Successful attempts meant another try for later.

Unsuccessful… Well, he had always said pain was an excellent teacher.

The first failure rewarded him with a bloody nose and black eye. The second gave him bruises up to his chin and breathing issues for a week. Broken fingers and hands for the third. And the fourth… There was never a fourth. Gerod knew he would not be so lucky. The fourth time would be death, and that was a gift he wasn’t willing to accept just yet.


End file.
